


Realization

by UnknownPaws



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depressive themes, Drabble Collection, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownPaws/pseuds/UnknownPaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all it took was a glimmer of realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Realization

_Sometimes all it took was a tiny glimmer of realization._

But the shock was shattering enough to throw his mind and heart off balance with every beat and punch he saw land on the blond's fallen body. Red splatters of blood painting the floor, small pools of vomit and the tiniest puddle of tears forming by the man's sore eyes. A mural of pain was created with every artist's swing of a fist, the palette squeezing out more colour with every stroke.

_How long, he feared, would it be until the paint ran out?_

A body tall yet so small now; muscles gone to waste from days of neglect, leaving only skin and bone; hair once a proud lion's mane of gold turned limp and faded. His clothes were originally clean, but the beatings and brutal attacking had since left them coated in blood and dirt.

_He wondered faintly if the stains were new or old._

A soft cry of misery caught his ears. The exchange of eyes bore a silent plea of help, desperation echoing in the depths of yellow-green irises. They had not been on good terms since Crystal Palace, the silence and awkwardness between them enough to spell out the end of a relationship. The blond's motives and the brunet's morals - two things clashing like opposing swords on a battlefield. It was fight neither was willing to take part in, so all things were handled silently and quickly. Removal from each other's presence was not entirely possible, but avoidance helped a significant amount. Not a word exchanged, silent distaste and mutual anger was the only thing shared between them now.

_Why must we have been so foolish, he mourned._

But society was cruel and unforgiving - their world, higher above the humans', was far from perfect. Full of rigidness and structure to the point of ridiculousness, yet all necessary for their purpose and existence. When rules were broken, the punishment was harsh and merciless. While the brunet was welcomed back - cured, healthy and alive - the blond was immediately shunned - weak, injured, and wished dead. In the brunet, the anger grew with every little twisted lie of hatred fed to him like slop to a pig. In the blond, anger turned to sorrow with every little insult thrown his way. One grew healthy, the other grew ill - it was like black and white sides of a spectrum. The opposite of before, the new of now; with this change came ignorance and shameless bullying.

_I should have known better, he bitterly scolded himself._

Realization came to him on a cold autumn evening. His paperwork was done but the call of overtime had beckoned him from straying home at the end of his shift. A reap was happening by the Thames, and they needed an officer on standby for possible backup - demon troubles were afoot. His footsteps had echoed ominously down the white hallways, betraying his lonely presence to anyone else lingering about after hours. Or should have, as a scream of sheer agony broke the silence like brittle glass, shattering his calm demeanour in an instant. A thud, a snarl, the sound of a body hitting the wall around the corner. A thin trail of red leaking out from behind the baseboard. He remained frozen in a statue-like manner, eyes neither narrowed or wide but startled all the same.

_Why didn't he run when he heard him sob?_

When he moved again, the screams had turned to pitiful wails and pleas for mercy. Around the corner met him with the sight of a brutal scene. Three thicker officers, from another office, hovering over an unfortunate member lying curled up in a pool of crimson shame. The men were neither smart nor dumb, but picking a fight was certainly not an option. Especially if it meant enduring a round of bruises for himself. The poor sap would have to deal with it on his own. If only his heart bore the wishes of his mind.

_Coward, run and hide away why don't you, he sneered to himself._

He tried his best to walk past without a sound. To not look over, and catch a glimpse of a broken body. To not meet crying eyes once capable of melting his heart. To not recognize the withering mane of ruined blond hair, soaked in blood. To not hear the soft cry of his name being called out in a final act of desperation. He should have turned, ran and hid away from the scene like a bad dream. Come out in the morning to a bustling office, nothing wrong and nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the small area roped off with caution tape, three figures being talked to by the authorities, and a body being dragged out to be tossed away like garbage. No one mourns the wicked, so why show them mercy, he tried to reason - but what reasoning was there with that idealism?

_He turned, saw, and screamed out a horrible sound, the name of the blond._

Silver was the colour of his scythe, but for once he enjoyed the smooth glimmer of red running down the edge of the blade. A twisted grin ought to mar his innocent face, Grell's voice almost whispering quietly over his shoulder into his ear with a soft chuckle.

_Make them beautifully red, my darling._

The officers stared, eyes beady and small like pigs', sweat trickling down fat foreheads at the thin sliver of metal. Strange, simple, yet deadly and swift - like the thorns of a rose, one prick enough to make even the toughest of skin bleed. The men were cowards, he could only decipher, watching their bruised and cut backs stumble away around the corner. New splashes of red stained the walls and floor, and it was only the sting of his chest that made him aware of his own wounds. The fight had not, as he had assumed, been onesided. But his wounds, however painful, were shallow. As were the cuts he'd inflicted upon the pigs. They would not die of their wounds either, and despite the punishment he would recieve, the brunet could care less than a penny's worth if he could do it all over again.

_They squealed like pigs, mauled by the cougar of London._

The shock came to him when he turned - the broken blond lifting his head with his remaining strength. He couldn't look away. Eric's eyes, puffy and shedding new tears, shone with unspoken pride, admiration, hope and gratitude. The sight was unnerving - he _should_ have looked away. But the emotions bore into him like the Thorns once encasing his heart - making him gasp, collapse, and clutch for his chest. It burned; what was this odd weight being lifted from inside of him? Why did he suddenly feel so relaxed? His mind suddenly unfogged - when had it become so muddied in the first place? The room seemed to blur, the beating of his heart hurting, and the sensation of his throat clogging up arising. Something wet landed on his cheek. A thump sounded, the blond fallen over at last. His own scream of sudden realization shattering his thoughts.

_If only he had been faster..._

He stared down at the fragile body cradling in his arms. When had Eric become so small? So thin, raggedy and limp? How long had he been neglecting himself? Was it even his fault to begin with? He lifted the blond up, legs like jelly. When had Eric become so light? When had Alan become so strong? What was this muscle in his arms and legs? Why did it strain slightly against the fabrics of his suit? He never remembered being this fit, even before he contracted the Thorns. Scars, new and clustered, covered his skin; he stared, even when the doctors turned to check him out. He looked into the mirror - he didn't recognize himself.

_He broke the glass._

Eric, to his immense shock, was a rather tiny thing - underneath the muscle and toned body lay a lanky, skinny man of pitiful proportions. Long hands and feet, arms and legs, and body appearing as if someone had stretched it. His face was hollow - how had Alan not noticed it before? It took him all his mustered strength to approach the hospital bed, his own legs like lead and his heart weighing down upon him again. Tears, salty raindrops of misery and guilt, cascaded down his cheeks in a gentle storm. He reached, hesitantly, to touch the man's lips - cold and dry.

_The next second, they were moist, warm and swollen._

He found himself walking up the stairs of his house, the blond's body tucked into a soft blanket. It was almost as if Eric were sleeping. His head, a ragdoll's replica, rested limp and loose upon Alan's shoulder. Eyes closed, almost doll-like, with lashes drooping and thin. His lips parted to let the occasional wheeze of breath escape, sometimes a soft gasp and a cough joining it in synchrony. Alan swallowed, barely composed. Every step brought a creak in the old wood. The brunet's face remained blank and serious. Yet it was his eyes that bore the tears of a lost fight, and a broken heart.

_What I would give to see you open your eyes._

He set the blond down in the most gentle, peaceful manner upon the bed, tucking the blankets up to his chin. He pulled away, hands shaking. Almost afraid the man would shatter from his touch, his fingers trembling with hidden strength. Yet, as he brought them to his face, they no longer seemed so impressive. Thin, long and delicate to the naked eye - but to his mind, he only saw thick, sizable things capable of breaking bones and crushing hearts. He was a flower, and yet held the disposition of a parasitic plant - destroying, sapping the life out of the strongest tree by ensnaring his vines around its core and slowly crushing it to death. He heard Eric cough, and curled his hands into fists - wishing he could let go of the blond's tender heart himself.

_f only I could mend the pieces of your heart._

A hand enclosed over his, Eric's eyes soft and forgiving. Alan choked, slowly lowering himself down to sit upon the bed. The room was stiffening, cold and thick with the scent of death - the scent Eric radiated heavily. There was no denying, even Alan could smell it now - the demon had been right when he said the man would forever reek of the stench. Alan only wished it weren't as strong as it was in that moment.

_Please, I beg you to hold on a little longer._

He curled up by the blond's side, their eyes baring into one another's, souls connecting for the first time in over a decade. The heat of love, pounding away at the remaining ice coating his heart, seared and burned him like a chemical fire. The elements of their romance were a dangerous compound to reckon with - mixing in too much hate and grudge had made way for an explosive disaster. But it seemed like only Alan had been spared from the fire.

_Eric..._

His hand tangled through the soft blond hair, threading the locked between fingers with every stroke. Tired eyed blinked at him, cat-like and slow - they bore little light, dull and tired from endless fighting. A lump had long since formed in Alan's throat. He leaned closer, whispering words of comfort and encouragement. To rest, to sleep, to be free from the pain. Eric didn't need to fight any longer - the battle was over, and he was exhausted. Alan knew, despite the pain hollowing out his chest, that the man deserved peace and rest.

"Sleep..." he whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I'll be here when you wake up..."

The guilt was enough to make his heart quiver and his composure crack. Many a question flooded his mind, all revolving around the same resolution. This was his fault, all of it - the pain, the suffering, the hatred. None of which Eric should have been burdened with alone. Even now, as their hands intertwined in the final evening glow, he never felt so further away from his love.

"Sleep..."

It was like watching snow fall. A sigh echoed, soft and breathtaking, content and relieved. A look of peace washed over the blond's face. His smile became more relaxed. His eyes slid closed. Alan made no move to stop the hand as it slipped from his grasp and thumped softly upon the bed. Only his remaining tears were allowed to flow freely for the final time that night, becoming thicker and uncontrollable with each passing second that spelt the room growing more unfriendly and cold.

His heart was broken.

_I love you..._

_I'm sorry..._

_I'll wait for you until the end of time..._

_Until you wake up again._

\--

\--

\--

\--

\--

\--

Eric awoke to the soft glow of golden sunlight. The room was silent, cold and unfriendly. His eyes were tired, but he felt stronger than he'd been in years. He glanced down - Alan curled further into his side, a final tear still resting upon his cheek. His breathing shuddered, a soft dry sob fluttering from his mouth. The blond tilted his head - then he smiled, leaned over, and kissed the tear away. Fell back onto the pillow with soothing sigh, the soft plush cradling his weary head, and stared at the face of love inches from his own. Resting their foreheads together, he smiled again, and waited for the man to awaken.

They had no need for tears anymore.

_Alan... I'm waiting for you._

_Wake up soon._

_I'll always forgive you, even if you would never forgive me._

_I love you._


End file.
